


ghost with a beating heart

by fleurting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Phobias, Pyrophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurting/pseuds/fleurting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Fiendfyre incident, Draco decides to live on water. Only on water. Nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghost with a beating heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 [hp_mhealthfest](http://hp_mhealthfest.livejournal.com/). All my love and gratitude to L for looking this over. Title taken from Laurie Hale Anderson's quote _"You're a ghost with a beating heart."_

Draco stared at the plate in front of him, chased a single pea around with his fork. He nodded absentmindedly as his mother babbled on. The pea rolled too far, into the potatoes, and he grimaced at them touching each other. He set down his fork. 

“Sorry?” He asked, noting his mother’s raised brow. His response only made her frown grow deeper. 

“I asked if you were feeling alright. You’ve barely touched your food,” Her voice was harsh, judgemental, but her expression said otherwise. The three wrinkles in her forehead relayed what he’d come to discover meant concern for the person they were directed at, not annoyance. He took a sip of his water, gulped.

“‘M fine, Mother,” He said, forcing his voice an octave higher in order to sound bothered. “Had a rather large lunch is all. With Blaise.” He hadn’t but she needn’t know that, she’d only worry. She’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

“Ah,” Narcissa replied, “How is Ms. Zabini these days? Is she well?” She asked, in such a way that it sounded polite, but anyone could tell truly wasn’t. 

“I believe so. Blaise didn’t say otherwise.”

Narcissa made a noncommittal noise, turned back to her dinner. Draco inwardly sighed with relief, knowing her criticisms were now focused on someone else.

“I truly do not understand that woman,” she started, not a few minutes later. 

Draco picked up his fork, resumed chasing his peas.

\---

Draco began unwrapping his scarf as he perched on a bar stool. The Three Broomsticks was warm and loud around him, filled with bustling bodies. He flagged down Madam Rosmerta, who nodded to signify she saw him, and waited patiently as she dealt with a particularly rowdy crowd of boys too young to be consuming the Firewhisky that they were.

“Draco?” came a voice to his left and he swivelled around in his seat. Pansy Parkinson stood before him, in all her long legged glory. Her hair was black as night, and cut short, shorter than he’d ever seen it. There was a flush to her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling in a way that meant she’d likely had one too many. “What brings you to this neck of the woods? Finally realise how much you miss me?” She teased, before spotting Madam Rosmerta. 

“Ooh! My usual, please. He likes mulled mead with a shot of _Blishen's_.” Madam Rosmerta sent Draco a slightly repulsed look. “I know.” Pansy nodded, seriously. “I tried it once, it’s _horrid_. I don’t know how he stands it.” 

“Actually, I’ll just have a club soda, please, thanks,” Draco cut in, causing Pansy to peer at him curiously. “Seriously?” Draco fidgeted, uncomfortable under her scrutinising gaze. 

“Got a meeting with Slughorn in the morning, can’t drink you under a table tonight,” he smiled, oozing charm. The flush in her cheeks became more prominent. She patted his cheek condescendingly. 

“You could never drink _me_ under the table, darling.” 

He tipped his head to her in acquiescence. 

\---

 

“Professor Slughorn?” Draco called politely as he stepped inside the open door of the man’s office. The place resembled the room he’d had attended various Potions lessons in years ago almost exactly, and for the most part, so did Slughorn. The man sat at his desk, a large oak piece that hid most of the professor from sight, save for a slight portion of his torso and face. 

“Draco, my boy!” Slughorn said, merrily. His cheeks were flushed and he sported a wide grin. If it weren’t for the desk, Draco was quite sure he’d be able to see Slughorn swinging his legs back and forth as they dangled off his chair. 

"Professor," Draco replied, shaking his hand before taking a seat in the chair across from him. 

"What can I do for you?" Slughorn asked, folding his hands and resting them on his stomach. 

"Well, you see," Draco started, "I have a problem of sorts." 

Slughorn frowned, leaning forward. "Oh, dear." 

"Nothing horrid, mind. It's more of a hypothetical problem. Something I've encountered in my work that I'm not quite sure how to solve." Draco glanced up at the professor, judging his reaction. 

Slughorn was nodding, seeming intrigued. Draco sighed inwardly with relief. 

"Suppose someone was unable to eat anything. They're in St. Mungo's perhaps and unable to consume anything. Would it be possible to create a potion that would provide all the vitamins and nutrients and such they need to live on? So they could just take the potion instead of eating?" 

"Oh, my," Slughorn said, leaning back in his chair. He frowned. "This isn't a real patient is it?"

Draco shook his head fervently. "No, sir. Entirely hypothetical. I'm conducting some research." 

Slughorn smiled, appeased. "Ah, I was quite the fan of conducting research projects back in my day! My colleagues always complained I start one but never finish it, too busy moving onto the next," he laughed. 

Draco mirrored his laughter. 

Slughorn hopped off his chair, walking over to one of the bookshelves leaning against the wall. "Yes, yes," he muttered, and with a flick of his wand books and papers started fluttering about the room. 

Draco followed them as they moved, leaning back warily when they began to form a pile in front of him. 

"Such things are a bit too much for my old mind," Slughorn stated, coming back over to his desk. "I much prefer the simplistic lessons taught to students. These should be of assistance to you, however." Slughorn said, tapping the piece of paper that was on top of the pile. "Any article or book in my collection that contains information regarding your problem is there. All yours for the taking. Long as you return them when you're done, of course," Slughorn winked.

Draco nodded solemnly. "Of course." 

"Now, I don't suppose you would like to stay and teach a lesson would you?" Slughorn asked hopefully. 

Draco smiled. "No. Sorry, sir."

Slughorn sighed. "It was too much to ask. Now, now," Slughorn said, noticing the time and standing up. "You must be going, I'm sure." 

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, walking towards the door, Slughorn right behind him like a shadow. 

"Thank you, sir," he said as he reached the doorway. "Truly." 

"Of course! Of course!" Slughorn said, ushering Draco out. Draco smirked at his antics and then laughed as he heard Slughorn start to hum once he thought Draco was gone. 

\--- 

Draco hurried through the ever busy streets of Diagon Alley. He shuffled along, keeping his head down and his shoulders drawn as not to make eye contact with anyone, intent on getting a water. He stopped short when he came across to the shop that belonged to the Weasel - _Weasley's_. An idea struck him at once, but he would never live it down if any of said Weasley's were actually in there. He subtly checked out the place through the window display and not seeing anyone he recognised, took a deep breath and went inside. 

He knew exactly what he was looking for but the chaos of the shop overwhelmed him, children running about, products flying through around the store, all of it too bright, too loud. 

A little girl bumped into his leg, looking up and timidly saying, "Sorry, Mister," with scared eyes before running off. The interaction got him moving again and he walked through the shop with a mission. He found what he was looking for relatively easy and got through checkout with only a raised eyebrow from the girl who rang up his purchase. He continued on with his quest for a drink, the bag of Puking Pastilles weighing heavy in his hand. 

\---

Draco sighed as he leaned against his work table, pushing his sleeves up even further on his arms, attempting to provide some cool comfort to his sweating limbs. He'd been working for ages, disrobed long ago, the combination of a number of different ingredients boiling in the cauldrons making the room almost unbearably warm. He’d sent the house elf to fetch him a glass of ice water what felt like eons ago. Beads of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He straightened back up, intending to go and get the water himself, but as he went to move, he began to feel dizzy. He grabbed the edge of the table with his hand, feeling as if it everything was off balance. He closed and eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to gain back control over his body, but when he opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness. Being unable to see anything, he started to panic, but his eyesight slowly came back. As soon as he let out a quiet sigh of relief, however, it happened again. He could feel himself swaying, bumping into something before collapsing on the floor. He thought he might’ve been able to hear a ringing sound, or perhaps a voice, but it wasn’t loud enough to hear over the persistent ringing in his ears. Everything faded to black.

\---

When he could finally see again, he flinched. He was in a white room, bright lights shining down on him. He looked around, trying to determine his whereabouts, but his mind was still foggy. Mostly he just wanted to get away from those lights, so he rolled over, burying his face into the pillow, and willed himself to sleep. 

\---

“Draco,” said the woman sitting across from him.

He was in St. Mungo’s. He knew that much now. He didn’t want to be. He knew that much as well. 

“How are you?” She asked, which Draco thought was a bit of an idiotic question. If he was alright, he obviously would not be with her right now.

He didn’t answer, like he didn’t answer majority of her questions, unless it was one so moronic he couldn’t even hold in his scathing retort. 

“I’ve noticed something,” she said, looking down at the parchment in her lap. She was one of those new Healers who preferred talking to potions or spells. He was fairly certain Muggles called them something with a p. Psychiatrist, psychologist, maybe. He continued not to answer her, but this didn’t deter her in the slightest.

“You flinch away from food, which is something fairly common among patients, but you seemed to only flinch away from certain foods in particular. Hot ones. Steamed vegetables, a hot soup,” She said, clearly looking for a reaction. He forced himself not to give her one. 

“When given cold foods, such as a salad perhaps, or raw vegetables, you didn’t seem to be as bothered. Why do you think that is, Draco?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that what my mother is paying you an obscenely large amount of money to figure out?” Draco said, crossing his arms. 

She smiled softly at him. “I have some ideas I’d like to share with you. Is that alright?” 

Draco shrugged. She took that as a yes. “I think it’s safe to say that there’s something in particular that bothers you. Do you know what that is, Draco?”

His mind immediately provided him with the feeling of anxious terror he felt as large, fiery beasts chased him around a room, the heat as the flames almost engulfed him, Potter’s hand as he saved him from what Draco was so sure was his inevitable death. 

She nodded at him encouragingly, but he couldn’t say the words even if he had wanted to. When she realised he wasn’t going to say it, she nodded once more before scooting back in her chair. 

“I think it’s fire, Draco. I think fire is the thing that bothers you.”

He had been able to keep himself composed for the most part, but as the word - _fire_ \- left her lips, he found himself unable to stop from flinching. She looked almost sorry for him. He wanted to hex that look right off her face. 

“You can overcome this, Draco. Many wizards and witches have had pyrophobia and been able to overcome it. You can too.” 

“Would you like to hear some of the options available to you?” She continues. He doesn’t reply. Can’t. Won’t. 

“There’s a specific type of healing in the Muggle world called exposure therapy. The goal is to help you face your fear, to gain control of it. We would do this by teaching you coping mechanisms, relaxation techniques. It would involve gradually exposing you to your fear. We wouldn’t expose you to it right away. Again, it’s a very gradually process. We’d start from the very beginning. Perhaps just showing you the word, or saying it. Hearing it from someone else, even.” Draco thought she might have looked at him pointedly as she said this, but he wasn’t entirely sure. 

“There’s no need to be afraid of it, Draco. As long as you can control it.”  
He didn’t respond, so she moved on. 

“As for your diet, we have a nutritionist we can set you up with. They would be able to take your preferences into consideration. Even so far as to only have cold foods in your diet, for a time.” She smiled at him, like they were just two mates having a laugh, sharing an inside joke. He felt a bit sick to his stomach. 

“We also have a Healer who can prescribe you with a potion to help you with your anxiety, if that was something you felt comfortable with.” 

Draco wasn’t comfortable with anything, hadn’t been since he was a mere first year. 

“Lastly,” she took a deep breath, as if she knew what she were about to say would set him off. It was possible. “I’d like you and your mother to consider going to family counselling. I truly feel this is the best course of action for both of you. Think about it, alright?” 

He managed to give her a nod, but just barely. 

She leaned forward again, looking at him earnestly. “There isn’t a magical fix, Draco. It takes time. But recovery is possible. I promise.” 

He felt some of the tension in his body leak out at the words. Just someone saying that it was going to be okay, made him feel better, if only in the smallest possible amount. He still wasn’t entirely convinced he was going to recover at all, that he ever would, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.


End file.
